Reliance
by TheMillionthMind
Summary: Coach has a bad run-in with a tank and the other survivors start to realize how vital they are to each other. Rated M for future content, violence, cursing, and gore. WARNING: Do not read if you don't like character death. Ellis/Nick slash.
1. Chapter 1

((This is about to be the most lame angst fic I've written in a long time. ____ And after writing such a good violent one, too. Damn. xD

Anywho, read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: All Left 4 Dead 2 content belongs to Valve, and I don't claim any ownership to the characters, story, or anything this fic entails. I don't intend to profit by any tangible means, other than comments on my own writing.))

Ellis had been so good at keeping the mood up. He habitually screamed and cheered and pumped his fist in the air like a kid who had just scored a goal playing soccer or something. He got excited when he took out special infected or just hordes of regular infected, and he kept everyone distracted with his stories about the goings-on in Savannah. And most-commonly, his buddy, Keith.

It wasn't until something bad happened that the mood soured. Perhaps it was because the minute it happened, Ellis stopped laughing. He stopped cheering, he stopped screaming victoriously when shooting infected, and worst yet, the Keith stories and tales about all the crazy redneck things he'd done came to a complete halt. And when they stopped, Rochelle gave up her optimism, too.

Coach wasn't doing well. Nick supported the man, but it was like walking with the guy's full weight, considering the way he stumbled and nearly fell to his knees every time. His ankle was a mangled mess of very clearly broken bones and blood had seeped out and painted his pant leg with a dark, gruesome stain. He couldn't talk without groaning in pain, and the way he was clutching at the left side of his ribs didn't promise much other than internal bleeding.

He'd had a bad run-in with a tank, and distracted by the infected, the other survivors had only managed to plow their way through just in time to distract the thing and take it out themselves.

It was a miracle he'd gotten this far.

Regardless, the other survivors pressed on, and for once, it was Nick doing the talking.

"We're gonna get you patched up, dammit." He grunted as he supported the oldest of the group, who merely coughed in response, then groaned from the pain.

"I think he broke somethin'…" Coach's face was pale, almost grey with the dark skin, and cold sweat had gathered at his forehead in tiny beads. He was in pain. The memory of the tank beating him to shit didn't do any good, either.

"Here." Shifting a bit, Nick offered his pain pills to the older man, and Coach accepted them eagerly, lifting his hand from his side only to swallow some of them, then passed them back.

"We're about to go through them like crazy, boy." Coach promised with a chuckle, followed by another groan. Everyone winced.

They all knew how much they relied on Coach—even Nick. Hell, he might have been a self-absorbed ass, but Coach had his back, regardless, and he needed that reassurance. He was the oldest, like a father figure for the group, and he was awesome to boot. He had intuition like no other and knew his way around a gun. His firm attitude had convinced them all to step out of each new safe house—to move on to potential safety and keep their chins up. Hell, even Ellis needed a little support every now and then.

And now it was as if that had been completely lost. The air hung solemnly around them and the sound of the wind in the trees could be heard, along with the distant hissing and growling of infected. There was a small trace of a jockey's laughter, but it was much too far for any of them to do anything about it, not that they wanted to. They were in one hell of a bad situation right now.

"Hang in there, Coach." Nick finally added, nodding to the red, barred door ahead of them. "We're not even half a mile from a safe house."

"Y'all are makin' a mistake, luggin' me around…" Coach spoke through a series of pained grunts. Everyone winced again.

"Don't say anything, Coach." Rochelle interrupted, swallowing hard. It looked as if the woman might be on the verge of tears. "Please?"

Coach nodded and, rather reluctantly, waited as Ellis and Rochelle fought off the horde while Nick made to drag the older man into the safe house. Somehow, amidst the chaos and screeching of infected, they managed to make it. And soon, Ellis had the door shut behind them. Nick lowered coach against a wall and they all panted, catching their breath.

Coach's were shorter and taken quickly to avoid the pain of whatever was jabbing into his side when he breathed in.

"Shit, I gotta look at him." Rochelle spoke calmly, and the other two survivors nodded. "Go see if you can find a first-aid kit." They nodded again and obeyed.

Yeah, even Nick obeyed. Even he knew this wasn't the time to be bitching around.

Walking alongside Ellis, the older man noticed how uncertain the mechanic suddenly was. It was really fucking awkward, dealing with a situation like this one _without_ Ellis' insistent banter about Keith and, well, whatever else the little hillbilly did in his spare time. Nick hadn't realized how much he'd relied on it. And now, without it, he had nothing to snap back about—no cocky responses to be made. Of course, he could say one, but without any necessary means, it just seemed…awkward.

"What's on your mind, kid?" Nick questioned, not that he didn't already know.

Ellis bit his lip, then glanced up at the older man, forcing a smile. "Am I makin' it that obvious?"

"I haven't heard a Keith story in at least an hour." Nick answered with a shrug. "That's obvious enough, since you're such a regular damned chatterbox."

They entered another room, and immediately started toward the shelves on the opposite end, next to a knocked-over snack machine. Ammo was visible, hopefully right along with a few first-aid kits.

"It's just…" The boy crossed his arms and crammed them tight around his chest, as if he were trying to hold something in. "Coach don't look too good an' all…"

Nick sighed. He'd prepared himself for something along the lines of those words, but that didn't make them any easier to handle, because whether or not he wanted to admit it, they _all_ needed Coach. Even Nick.

"We'll figure something out." Comforting people wasn't his thing, and it shined through with the way the older man kept his gaze straight forward and his teeth grazed his bottom lip. He wasn't sure what else to say and Ellis' eyes were fixed on him and it was kind of unnerving. "Please, for the love of god, stop staring at me."

"Okay." Ellis obeyed quickly. He paused, and for a brief second, Nick noticed that optimistic spark as it returned—of course, hazed by concern—and he craned his head to grin at the con-man. "You did real good out there, Nick."

Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"Supportin' Coach so we could get 'im to safety. I didn't see you let go, not even one time." For a split second, the southerner was positively _beaming_, as if he'd finally seen another side of the older man.

Well, he hadn't. Nick reminded himself of that as he answered, seizing the only first-aid kit and turning to lead them back to the main room. "I helped him because we need him, not because I give a shit."

"Okay." Ellis shrugged, then dropped the subject as they returned and Nick passed the small first-aid kit to Rochelle.

"Oh, thank god." The woman heaved a sigh of relief. By now, Coach's shirt was off completely, and he rather painfully held an arm in the air to expose the injured area of his side. It wasn't like they could do much other than wrap it up to prevent further injury, and the ankle was no different. Eventually, they all just gathered around Coach and gave him all the pain pills they had, then wrapped the injuries as well as they could.

This…was going to slow them down. Nick contemplated taking Coach up on his earlier offer to leave him, but something held him back.

_Not_ uncertainty. _Not_ concern.

………………………………………………

The next morning was no better. Rochelle and Ellis had both spent the night tossing and turning and not acquiring any actual sleep. They took turns checking up on Coach, who insisted(rather painfully) that he was fine and just wanted 'some goddamned sleep,' but that didn't stop them from being concerned.

Coach looked worse. They tried to eat. Ellis and Nick snacked on potato chips from the snack machine near where they'd found the first-aid kit and ammo, and offered Rochelle and Coach some. Rochelle declined, claiming she wasn't hungry at the moment, but promised to eat later. Coach attempted the chips, but vomited less than half an hour after eating them, then made a joke about having to rely on pain pills for his sustenance until he was better.

Nobody laughed.

They needed to keep moving, and at this point, it was as if Nick and Coach were the only ones who realized this. Ellis and Rochelle pleaded to stay for one more day so Coach could get better, and the oldest of the group argued right back that he was either going today or they were leaving him. There was no telling how long the survivors had before the evac units gave up completely on finding any more, after all.

But somehow, they managed to win. Coach withdrew into a state of groaning and clutching his now-bandaged side, so Nick was the only one left to fight back, and with a determined southern kid and an angry woman(The con-man still didn't quite get how to handle women) in his face, he finally, reluctantly agreed. "Fine, but we're hauling ass tomorrow, you two hear?"

Rochelle and Ellis nodded, but they all knew they couldn't leave Coach, and that was going to slow them down, even with a day of recovery.

Once more, the survivors took shifts. One would stay with Coach while the other two went out to find anything they could use—more first-aid, adrenaline for tomorrow, guns or ammo, _anything._ Ellis sat with him first, while Rochelle and Nick went out.

Rochelle didn't seem to mind the company, but Nick was silent, obviously not pleased by the fact that they were just walking around like sitting ducks in a pond swimming with infected. Or that they weren't hauling ass out of here.

"You know we're only doing this for Coach." Rochelle spoke through the silence after the two had managed to control a horde. A spitter fell before them, goo leaking from her gaping mouth and crawling toward them. They stepped back.

"I know." Nick growled, picking off a stray infected among several trees.

Rochelle rolled her eyes. "When're you gonna stop with the tough guy act?"

The con-man cocked his shotgun, ready for any oncoming infected. They'd located another first-aid kit and a bottle of pain pills, so hopefully, they could start back. Rochelle seemed keen on it, too, especially when the ground rumbled beneath them.

"No time for this shit, honey!" Nick suddenly demanded, then tugged her backward by the forearm, sprinting in the direction of the safe house. The two fired behind them at the approaching tank. They could hear the bullets landing, but the thing refused to fall.

And like that, they were running. _Sprinting._ The last thing they needed was another situation like Coach's, and the two of them kept that in mind, forcing their legs to take another step. But the tank was gaining on them, and fast.

Rochelle threw a Molotov, which slowed the tank down, and with a little more shooting, the massive creature finally collapsed, making a resounding "THUD" on the ground as it landed. Panting, they turned around to start toward the safe house, which was right in front of them.

"Close." Rochelle muttered, then pushed the door open and she and Nick stepped inside.

Ellis was oblivious to both of them, chattering right along with Coach, who strangely enough, seemed to be enjoying the conversation. The mechanic passed him some pills from the little pile they'd made on the floor, and the other man accepted them eagerly. It wasn't until Coach waved in the direction of the entrance that Ellis snapped out of it and realized the other two had returned.

"Find anythin'?" He questioned, getting to his feet.

Nick was on the verge of a snarky remark when Rochelle elbowed him and approached the other two with the first-aid kit and pills in hand. "These should work for a bit." She then promptly plopped down next to Coach.

Nick groaned. "Aw, come _on_!"

"Our turn." Ellis passed him and the safe room door opened.

"Can't he just go by—"

"No." Rochelle shot him a glare. "Get movin' and cover the boy's ass. You know how he can get."

………………………………..

"_Man!_" Ellis cheered, pumping a fist into the air just as he and Nick had managed to take out a small horde. "We are _kickin' ass_!"

As if his words had posed a challenge to the infected, they came pouring in promptly after Ellis had made his declaration.

"DON'T EGG THEM ON, DUMBASS!" Nick roared as he knocked back a female infected with the butt of his shotgun, then blasted her in the face and made to do the same to others.

"Sorry." Ellis quickly apologized.

By the time they'd cleared the swarm, Nick had completely exhausted his supply of shotgun ammo and had to rely on pistols and Ellis was panting, clinging to a bleeding spot on his right forearm. It wasn't too massive, and the mechanic was mostly panting out of exhaustion, but it was still an injury.

"_That_," Nick seized the moment to scold the boy, "is why we don't taunt them."

Ellis merely nodded, and they pressed on. With a couple pain pills in his system, he felt fine and they kept moving, eyes scanning restlessly for something—_anything_ that could keep Coach with them.

Their search moved clean on into afternoon, and before they knew it, evening had arrived and darkness was starting to settle around them. Conveniently enough, they managed to stumble upon two adrenaline shots and some more pain pills, and the two men simultaneously decided it was time to fall back.

Problem was, they had ventured quite the distance, and night was falling fast.

"Shit, I knew we should've stopped at the rest stop." Nick grumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"I can look away if you gotta pee, Nick." Ellis suggested, promptly flinching when the older man recoiled and groaned aloud.

"I don't have to pee!" He cried out. "I meant we should've turned around sooner!"

"Ohhh…" Ellis nodded and paused briefly. "But it wasn't so bad, on account of we found these shots and pills."

"It's getting dark." Nick proclaimed. "Zombies are everywhere. We should've turned back earlier."

The mechanic merely shrugged. "No use dwellin' on it now. Let's just get back. I'm startin' to worry about Coach again."

The zombies must've known Coach—and hated him something fierce—because, upon the mention of his name, they were flooding in again, hissing and screeching straight toward the two survivors.

The two men backed into each other, shoulderblades pressed firmly together, covering themselves from both ends as they fought down yet another horde of infected. As a boomer exploded in the distance and infected swarmed for it, Nick silently wondered just how much more of the population they had to destroy to have a little peace around here, but he didn't get to muse on it long. Infected poured out of every corner, sprinting wildly out of every open door, down from goddamned _trees,_ off of cars and god-knows-what else. Ammo was running low and both men knew their situation wasn't a good one, but they somehow managed to take out the swarm, panting.

At least, until Ellis had to interrupt their beautiful moment of near-peace.

"Here comes the finale!" Ellis declared aloud, switching to his pistols and blasting down special infected after special infected, which had suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere. A hunter leapt at them and the mechanic took it out in mid-leap, then shot down an oncoming spitter before she could start throwing loogies their way.

Behind him, Nick fought off a charger, pistols not doing much to stop the attack. He screamed aloud as the thing came barreling toward them, massive shoulder hunched to send them flying, but it fell inches before them and Nick heaved a sigh.

"Shit. That was _too_ close!"

"Naw, it wasn't!" Ellis disagreed with a panic in his voice, nudging his partner to the infected coming toward them from his side. Two jockeys, a hunter, and a boomer could be seen in the distance. These guys were giving them one hell of welcoming party, that was for sure.

"What the hell _is_ this shit!?" With those words, Nick was running, hand wrapping around Ellis' forearm and ignoring the way the blood from the wound seeped through and around his fingers. They had to run. They had to get back to the safe house. It was getting dark and visibility was fading fast. There was no telling how bad these guys got at night.

Ellis fired several shots behind him with his pistol, taking out the boomer and starting on one of the jockeys, both of which were cackling insanely and bounding toward them.

The next thing Nick knew, his face was in the ground. Everything went black afterward. He could faintly hear Ellis' cries of pain, mingled in with the snarling of a hunter and the various other infected, but they all eventually faded into the back of his mind, and he was just floating there in complete emptiness.

When he came to, there were no infected and no one was screaming. His eyes opened to blackness and he sucked in a breath of air quickly to make sure he was still alive. It sounded more like a gasp for air, and almost immediately afterward, a voice echoed through the darkness.

"I think I just heard him." Nick would recognize Rochelle's voice anywhere after all they'd been through together, and he found himself relieved that she was there.

What about Ellis?

Nick tried to ignore the way his stomach sunk at the thought.

A lantern flashed in his face and Nick groaned aloud at the headache the sudden burst of light spawned.

"Augh, what the hell?" The con-man rolled onto his side as if he were still trying to sleep, and Rochelle promptly rolled him back over, leaning close and examining his forehead.

"Looks like you're gonna be okay." She proclaimed, then stood up. "You're lucky Ellis managed to get you out of that mess."

It was then that Nick realized how deafeningly quiet the room was outside of their conversation, completely devoid of Keith stories or, hell, any sort of chatter the boy had in him. His eyes went wide and he made to sit upright, but just as he'd done so, a vast wave of nausea hit him and he turned, heaving onto the ground next to him.

Great.

"Must be the shock from the impact." Rochelle said in mild amusement. "Ellis said that jockey took you down pretty hard—threw his full weight right at the back of your head."

"Ellis." Nick repeated, swallowing hard. The uneasiness in the pit of his stomach was uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that knowing of the boy's survival might help. "Where is the kid? He alright?"

"Mmhmm." Rochelle nodded. "He took a beating, himself, but it wasn't nothin' we couldn't patch up with a first-aid kit, just like with you." She chuckled and motioned to the bandage that had been wrapped around Nick's head. He must've gashed it or something for them to have had to do so. "Coach made us use it. You shoulda seen the boy, arguing that he'd be alright and –"

Nick was at his feet, ignoring the dizziness that hit him when he stood, and made his way back into the main room, where he could hear Coach snoring lightly.

Several feet from the oldest of the group, there were three worn-looking blankets on the ground, and Ellis was poised atop one of them, back against the wall behind him. Another lantern, which was sitting next to him, glowed brightly, casting haunting shadows on the boy and the wall behind him. The way they danced behind him actually reminded Nick more of Ellis than the boy the shadows were cast of.

Ellis looked pitiful, at least compared to his usual, giddy self. From the distance, Nick could see the bruises and scrapes all over his body, and both forearms were bandaged, the right tainted a deep red from seeping blood. Beneath his shirt, the con-man could see that the mechanic's stomach had been wrapped. His eyes were sagged and tired and Nick's stomach dropped at the sight. The boy still hadn't slept?

Why the hell did he care, anyway?

"Geez, kid." Nick stated plainly as he approached, taking a seat next to the mechanic. "You look like—"

Ellis was beaming all of a sudden, and Nick could see that his left cheek was slightly more swollen than the right.

"What?" The question sounded more like a statement coming from the con-man, but Ellis didn't seem to mind.

"Yer alright." The boy stated plainly.

"Yeah." Nick sighed, scratching the back of his neck and immediately regretting it when his hand clunked awkwardly into the back of his skull and a sharp pain made itself known. "I don't think I should be the one to worry about, though." He motioned to Coach(Rochelle was now sitting beside him, watching over him like a hawk), then back to Ellis. "Besides, you're worse off than I am. Hunter get a hold on you?"

"Yeah." Ellis answered with a sigh, leaning back against the wall. "But that ain't the point." He suddenly looked determined. "I mean, yer a right damn asshole sometimes, Nick, but I dunno if we'd make it without you _and_ Coach."

Nick wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Instead, he deflected like he had earlier. After all, Ellis still wasn't telling stories as much, so the situation as essentially the same. Comfort still wasn't his thing, though. "Stop talking like Coach is dead, Overalls."

Ellis' gaze shifted downward almost immediately. "He ain't lookin' too good."

Nick's gaze soon followed.

"Hey, Nick?"

The older man lifted his head, eyeing the boy in curiosity.

"Mind if I hug you?"

Nick's jaw dropped. "You're asking?"

"Well, yer injured an' all…" Ellis bit his lip, and for a split second—or maybe it was just the way the lantern's light flickered on his face—he thought the mechanic might have been blushing.

"I'm not half as bad as…Ugh, _fine_." Nick rolled his eyes, then found himself pulled forward into a bone-crushing hug. Injured or not, Ellis had some strength to him. He was more lean than lanky, and the con-man wondered why that thought even came to mind.

Ellis was buried in his chest, now, strong arms wrapped tightly around Nick's frame, and the older man could see the boy's hat slipping off. He did the favor of removing it before it fell and placed it lightly next to Ellis' blanket.

And he hugged back. Reluctantly, at first. One hand lifted and wrapped around Ellis' back, and the next thing he knew, he was clinging to the kid for dear life.

Human contact. It'd been something Nick had missed greatly. The most they experienced was when helping each other to their feet or supporting one another. They'd never stopped to actually _enjoy_ what could be the last actual, human touch they'd feel before being plowed under by infected hands, clawing at their flesh and tearing their way to victory.

Nick enjoyed it more than he'd admit aloud.

But as usual, Ellis had to ruin the moment.

"Somethin' smells like puke."

Rochelle snickered from her spot next to Coach.

"I barfed when I woke up." Nick answered with a shrug.

"Oh." Ellis finally pulled away, then nestled himself comfortably—or as comfortably as he could, considering his injuries—on the blanket. Nick followed suit, but Rochelle insisted on staying near Coach.

She wouldn't sleep that night. Nick almost felt bad that he would, and he was sure Ellis would be apologizing up a storm tomorrow when he woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

((I hate, hate, hate this chapter with a burning, seething, white hot fucking ever-loving passion. It was so hard to write, but absolutely necessary to produce the result needed in the final chapter. Forgive me, readers! D8

Disclaimer: I don't own L4D2, the characters, or anything else it entails. I don't intend to profit from this fic. Please don't sue me.))

Morning greeted the survivors with dim, cloudy light that poured into the gaps in the safe room door and crawled through the cracks in the boarded windows. Ellis was the first to rise, and Nick came to soon after. As the con-man had expected, the mechanic was up and apologizing to Rochelle in minutes. Rochelle didn't seem to care, and turned her head to give the boy a tired smile.

"It's fine, honey." Rochelle shrugged. She turned back to watch Coach, who was starting to wake up, himself. After some sleep, he didn't look so bad. He'd gotten to rest, and the slumber was painless, so waking up, his skin had regained its usual complexion, but as he sat up, he regretted it.

"Oh, man..." The oldest in the group moaned.

"Take it easy, Coach." Rochelle spoke quickly, bouncing forward quickly to offer a hand.

"I'm alright, Ro." He said simply, lifting one hand. "But we need to get movin'."

The others agreed, and after a quick breakfast of snack machine food, they were on the move again. Nick would've asked Ellis to help Coach this time around, but the boy was obviously in his own pain and Rochelle looked tired enough to blend in with the zombies, so the con-man took up the task again. Ellis seemed grateful, and Rochelle just looked too tired to focus. While Ellis and Coach held their guns at the ready and Nick supported Coach, the only female in the group lagged behind, gun held up slightly, but head and shoulders sunken and tired.

Ellis drifted backward and walked with her when he noticed. And with good timing, too, because the minute he'd done so, the horde arrived. Coach covered both himself and Nick while Ellis and Rochelle fired off from their ends. Rochelle was slower than usual, but the boy managed to pull her weight, firing a few shots ahead of her and taking out a hunter before it could reach her. She thanked him wearily and they pressed on.

Coach definitely knew what he was doing. He used his one free hand to fire a pistol, aiming carefully with each shot, but somehow managing to do it quickly enough to defend both himself and Nick. Determination, maybe?

Nick, however, was nearly out of his mind without the ability to shoot a gun. One hand supported Coach's waist and the other hooked the older man's arm over his shoulder, and he found himself on the verge of a panic attack as infected sped toward him, only to be shot back barely in time.

"Jesus…" He finally groaned aloud as the swarm died down. "Care to go a little faster next time, Quickdraw?

Coach frowned at him. "I'm coverin' your ass too. It ain't easy."

Nick merely nodded and heaved a sigh of relief when the quiet returned to the surroundings. Infected could be heard in the distance, but for now, the heavy breathing of the four survivors and their footsteps on the ground overpowered the screeching and gunfire, and a warm feeling of temporary peace washed over the four beings. Even Rochelle seemed to have a little more spring in her step.

But half an hour later, Nick was already exhausted from supporting Coach. The oldest of the group couldn't walk on his shattered ankle, so he'd tried hopping on his one good leg with Nick's support, which only wore both men down faster, so Nick resorted to carrying the weight on his own.

Up until Ellis and Rochelle approached. As if it had been planned(and Nick wouldn't have been surprised, since the two moved so fluidly into position), Ellis took hold of Coach's gun and passed it to Nick—who rather reluctantly accepted. He then seized the older man's other arm and tugged it over his shoulder, almost immediately lifting half the weight up. Rochelle took up a spot behind them, ready to cover from behind while the other two men took the front and sides.

The mechanic shot Nick a determined look, and the con-man just laughed. He contemplated offering thanks, but it would've come out sounding sarcastic anyway, so he just held it back in favor of bracing himself for the oncoming infected.

"Y'all are going to too much trouble luggin' my ass around…" Coach grunted, shooting both Ellis and Nick impatient looks. He would've done the same for Rochelle if he'd have been able to see her properly. "You're gonna get us all killed."

Ellis shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Rochelle interrupted.

"We gotta stick together to survive." She sounded determined. "Ain't no way we're leavin' you out on that note."

Coach merely chuckled, and then let out another groan of pain. His side was hurting something fierce.

Infected poured in again, but this time, they were ready. Nick and Ellis managed to do a lot more damage together than the injured Coach, and Rochelle, with a new determination, put her back to the others and fired away at the infected with two machine guns—one of which had been passed to her by Ellis.

Things were going smoothly, and Coach even wondered himself if he'd counted his chickens a little too quickly.

At least, until the special infected started to show up. A charger roared, and Ellis was sure he could hear the crying of a Witch in the distance. A boomer horked and squelched from somewhere nearby, and uneasiness crept over all of them. The echoing of a jockey reminded them of their situation.

Coach shoved Ellis away from him, and the impact knocked himself and Nick to the ground. Shooting a look that was harsh enough that Nick thought he might be staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, the larger man demanded, "Run. _Now_."

Nick nodded and got to his feet, stumbling back and pointing his gun, firing away at the infected rushing downward to feed on the now-fallen older man. Ellis, who had frozen upon hearing the demand, joined in soon after, and not too much later, Rochelle was helping right along with them.

"Don't be stupid!" Coach demanded from his position, pointing to the charger that could now be seen in the distance, barreling toward them. "There's too many. Get yo' asses outta here!"

"Sorry, Coach." Ellis argued back, for once being stubborn. "But we ain't lettin' you die here." He fired on at the charger, but a few pistol bullets weren't doing any good. Rochelle and Nick soon joined in, but by the time they'd done so, the creature managed to knock Rochelle clean out of the way. In a desperate attempt to save her however, Nick and Ellis finally managed to take it down, only to turn around and find themselves at the mercy of a spitter and a jockey. The jockey pounced on Ellis and Nick managed to take it out, right along with the spitter, but the minute he regained his composure, the infected were still pouring in.

Rochelle screamed and gunshots rang out promptly afterward.

"Y'all are _all_ gonna die if you don't get outta here!" Coach demanded. "Now go! GO!"

Ellis shook his head repeatedly, almost as if in a trance. There was no way he was leaving Coach behind. No way…

"GET GOIN'!"

Nick finally nodded and seized Ellis by the forearm, tugging him along. Rochelle screamed once more when Nick grabbed her too.

This wasn't selfish. Coach had asked for this to happen. One down was better than all, right? It wasn't so reassuring with the guy screaming in pain behind them, but regardless, Nick forced the other two along and across a street, straight toward another safe house.

The con-man was the one to shut the door. He held it tight and slid the barricade into the socket. Rochelle burst into tears. Ellis merely sat there, frozen, staring through the bars of the door they'd just come in.

Coach had been a big part of the glue holding the survivors together, alongside their determination to make it to safety. And glancing around, Nick realized just how that glue was flaking into tiny pieces and crashing to the ground around them, right along with the fading screams from their former fourth survivor. Rochelle sobbed weakly, hands clutching at her face almost as if she were trying to tear it off. Ellis hadn't moved. His gaze remained fixed on the safe house door. Nick silently wondered if the boy was waiting for Coach. Most likely. To be honest, they all were.

Things were falling apart, and they hadn't left him more than a few minutes ago.

It started when Rochelle slapped Nick. She'd approached him swiftly, fierce glare on her tear-stained features, and whipped an arm back, smacking her palm roughly against the left side of Nick's face. The con-man had merely glanced back, the usual expression plastered on his face.

"Why'd you do that, huh!?" She demanded, raising an arm to swing again. Nick caught her wrist this time around.

"Because he _asked_ me to." The older man rasped back, then lowered her hand and released it, stepping back and making to walk away.

"_Don't just walk away like that, you selfish son of a bitch._" Every word from Rochelle seared with white-hot loathing. Her hand found Nick's shoulder and she turned him around fiercely, rearing a fist back and punching the guy. Hard. "Don't use his words as an excuse to make yourself look good! You did it because you were scared for your pathetic little life, and at one person's expense, it was okay. Right?"

Nick backhanded her before he knew what he was doing. Ellis gasped from several feet away. He could see the rings' indents swelling on her cheek, and he almost felt bad, but the sneer on her face changed his mind.

"If that were the case," he demanded right back, "Would I have saved both of your sorry asses?!" He motioned to Ellis. "You know Overalls drives me nuts, and I think you're too damned pushy for your own good!" He groaned aloud. "If I was in my right fucking mind at all, I'd have abandoned both of you yesterday and made a break for it while I still could!" He was almost roaring, he was screaming so loudly. "But no! Here we are, just the three of us, and chances are we're too late for a goddamn evacuation now!" Nick's voice lowered to nearly a whisper. "So call me selfish again, princess. Have at it."

The room fell silent. Rochelle didn't speak. Her glare faltered a bit, and then she pivoted on one foot and started toward the door.

"Ro…" Ellis' voice was almost foreign to the two formerly-arguing survivors who had nearly forgotten him amidst their fighting, and both turned to face him in surprise.

"Yeah, honey?" She asked the boy, forcing a tearful smile.

"Don't go out searchin'." His expression was stony and frightening—both Nick and Rochelle immediately understood why Ellis had never worn the look before. It meant business. "Them things are everywhere. Coach was right…" The pistol dropped from the boy's hand and clattered to the ground, not firing, lucky for them. "Last thing we need to do is throw his kind deed all to hell by goin' and getting' ourselves killed."

Rochelle seemed to understand, and her shoulders sagged. Ellis was right. Coach had beckoned them to safety, and going out and trying to find him and ending up dead would just throw that sacrifice right out the window.

"You're right." She finally sighed. "I'll just take a breather." She stepped into a bathroom and closed the door.

The room was silent afterward—deafeningly so. Ellis' lack of Keith stories or tales about Savannah clouded Nick's ears—roared into his eardrums, and he suddenly found himself cursing aloud, pacing the room. His hands balled into fists and raised up and down, clenching and unclenching, unsure of whether they wanted to end up against the wall or in his hair, tearing the strands from his scalp.

This was so goddamn _frustrating_! He was covered in filth, zombies were everywhere, Coach was as good as dead, and Rochelle was falling apart worse than usual. Except this time, she wasn't trying to hide it. And to top it all off, Ellis was quiet.

It was unsurprising that Nick turned and shot Ellis a glare. The boy recoiled.

"Nick?" Ellis questioned.

"SAY SOMETHING, WILL YOU?!" The gambler's eyes were wide and angry, and his mouth was agape, hand sprawled out at his sides. "ANYTHING?"

Ellis' gaze shot downward. "Now ain't really the time, Nick…"

"Shit." The con-man cursed, forcing himself to calm down. He was losing control, and that wasn't like him. He was the _master_ of keeping his cool—of making people think exactly what he needed them to in order to get his way. He could pull through this.

That was right. This was no time to be flipping out. They would never survive yelling and screaming and acting like children. Nick sucked in a breath, hands at his sides, and released it, then flopped back against a wall, sliding along it until his bottom hit the cold concrete flooring.

Cold. It was cold.

Coach was as good as dead.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, fingers reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. This day just couldn't get any worse. There were so many complaints at the tip of his tongue, but he held them back.

For once, he held them back.

A shuffling alerted Nick that someone had approached. Opening his eyes, he spotted Ellis just as the boy's rump hit the ground and he was sitting next to the older man.

"Sorry I don't have anything interestin' to say…" Ellis said immediately, eyes boring into Nick's skull with what the con-man was pretty sure was concern. "I can try to come up with somethin' if it'd—"

"Forget it." Nick sighed. "You're right. We shouldn't be telling funny stories right now."

Ellis sighed right back. "Yeah." There was a swallow, and he continued, "But y'know, I can't say I blame Rochelle for hittin' you."

Nick's gaze lifted and his eyes met the boy's.

"I mean," Ellis fidgeted and did that thing with his arms again, where he smashed them up against his chest, "I'm not tryin' to speak out of turn or anything, but we all needed Coach."

"I get what you're saying, sport." Nick tilted his head upward and let his suddenly very tired eyes stare at the ceiling for a bit. "But he was begging—you should've seen the look on his face…Christ…I needed him too, dammit!" Hands clutched at his skull and he grit his teeth hard. "What the fuck did I do…?"

"I'mma hug you again, Nick." Ellis warned before straddling the older man against the wall and tugging him forward, into a hug. A comforting one. "We'll figure somethin' out, awright?"

Nick suddenly nodded and just accepted the words, arms wrapping around the boy's waist once more and holding him close.

The gambler was by no means into hugging or close contact that didn't result in a good lay, but for today, he could let it slide. In fact, his right hand trailed up the younger man's spine and rested in between his shoulder blades, holding the boy closer as if he too might crumple to the ground and cease to exist.

The door squeaked and Rochelle popped out of the bathroom, her face stained even worse with tears and skin pale. Nick knew they were all upset about what had happened, but Rochelle looked absolutely hopeless. Perhaps it was just because she was tired, but it still almost physically hurt to look at her because of it.

"Sorry I hit you." She spoke calmly, words and breathing shaky.

Nick neither accepted the apology, nor apologized himself. It wasn't because he was angry with her, himself. He'd just been so used to not doing either. "You had your reasons." He answered instead.

Somehow, Rochelle expected that answer, and she didn't recoil upon hearing it. Instead, she added, "Coach knew what he was doing," promptly letting out a sob afterward.

………………………………………..

The rest of the day was spent with Ellis comforting Rochelle and Nick brooding on his own. It wasn't that he wanted to—he was just used to it. He didn't mind it like the other two seemed to. Ellis probably thrived on conversation and Rochelle…well, she just plain needed it. With those two talking together, Nick could've sworn he saw Rochelle smile a few times, even if only briefly. And Ellis returned rather quickly to sharing his stories, only they'd been spoken with significantly less enthusiasm than before.

It was better than nothing.

Rochelle and Ellis slept well that night. Nick just tossed and turned.


	3. Chapter 3

((I'm sorry for making everyone wait. I actually thought I'd uploaded the last two chapters. Either way, here are the updates!

Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead 2, the characters, or what little story there is. This is just a result of my insane muses demanding I write this. Don't sue me.))

Despite Nick's claim the previous day that they probably wouldn't reach an evacuation unit in time, the survivors still pressed on. The con-man may have made a declaration that all hope was lost, and it very well may have been, but they hadn't come this far just to toss their hands in the air and give up. The infected still clawed at them and the wind still roared through the trees. It took a bit of getting through to the only female survivor in the group, but just because a dear friend had been lost did not mean the world had stopped. Coach probably wanted them to know that above all else. That didn't make his death any more unfortunate, though.

What a depressing way to throw their asses into gear, but what else did they have? Ellis' stories were forced and uncomfortable and Rochelle's smiles were even worse. She looked better today since she'd slept, but that didn't stop the hurt from leaking through her headstrong demeanor. But with Ellis by her side and Nick shooting infected away from her when she wasn't looking, they managed to keep moving.

Before departing from the safe house, Ellis had found a pen in one of the rooms, and among all the other scribbles on the wall, wrote out some sort of crazy eulogy for Coach, which was promptly signed by Rochelle, and after a bit of quick thinking, Nick.

What had happened served as a wake-up call to the survivors. The next several safe houses—straight through a disgusting swamp and in the direction of a plantation house—were approached quickly and there was no stopping for rest. Ellis stole the last remaining candy bar from one of the machines at the carnival and they'd split it on the helicopter ride to what they'd thought was safety, but all three of them were a bit uneasy to touch anything in the run-down shacks of the swamp. There was the little store beforehand, but after a jerky crash downward from the helicopter, the group had decided that none of them were hungry enough to stop. The zombies swarming around helped to keep them moving.

Now, ahead of them, the survivors could see the massive plantation house. This had been where the people were scribbling all over the safe houses about going to, right? It certainly looked in better condition than the other broken-in shacks they'd passed through to get here, though it had its own abundance of boarded windows and shattered doors. Infected poured from them the minute they heard the voices of the survivors, throwing them promptly into motion.

"There's a radio over here." Ellis noted aloud as they took down the horde, and Nick and Rochelle agreed to cover the kid while he radioed whoever he could get to.

And after a rather lengthy radio conversation with a man who called himself Virgil, the three had landed themselves a ride to New Orleans. Despite Nick's and Rochelle's angry calls for help from Ellis, the southerner still said his friendly goodbye to the man on the radio before flipping it off and stepping in to help. He got the last few of the zombies and Nick and Rochelle took a breather while the infected weren't pouring in like Niagara Falls.

"Virgil's gonna blow up the door when he gets here, so step back." Ellis warned, and the other two obeyed, reloading their guns as they moved.

"Virgil, eh?" Nick questioned with an eyebrow raised. "He sound like a trustworthy guy?"

"He's gonna get us outta here, ain't he?"

"Good point."

No words were exchanged afterward, because the group found themselves at the mercy of a tank and several scattered infected. It was convenient, how these things chose the perfect moments to show themselves. But all three of the remaining survivors were adamant about pressing on, now. They sped backward and unloaded on the tank. One of them would aim sideways and take out a stray infected every now and then, but for the most part, their focus remained on the massive creature flailing and roaring before them, and much to their relief, they eventually took it down.

It was shocking how close they'd gotten to being pummeled by the thing and at the same time, infuriating how easily it had fallen, considering his cousin somewhere had done irreversible damage to Coach.

Rochelle bit her lip at the thought.

After nearly ten minutes of fighting off the horde, the door leading out of the plantation finally shattered and the group made a beeline for it, where Virgil could be heard hooting and hollering on what sounded like a megaphone.

Ellis cheered aloud and shot down a hunter before it could leap. "WOOHOOOOO! YOU MADE IT, VIRGIL!" Already, the kid acted as if he was best friends with this guy they'd never seen before. Ellis was truly astounding.

For the most part, the survivors disregarded the infected pursuing them in favor of reaching the boat. They tore around the wooden walkway, shooting zombies from in front of them, their bodies pleading for them to pick up the pace upon hearing another tank crushing its way closer to them from behind.

Rochelle and Nick made it to the boat first. Ellis, who turned to sprint backward and knock back some of the infected, ended up tripping and falling right into the water. Nick and Rochelle barely managed to tug the boy onto the boat before the machine tore off and hurried its way down the river.

Ellis cheered again, and Nick chuckled. Rochelle just grinned. All they had to do was get to New Orleans. Hopefully, rescue would be awaiting them there.

…

Sleep came more easily with the threat of infected removed, even if only temporarily. The boat wasn't huge, but Virgil had provided the group with some blankets to rest under, and the room may have been kind of small, but the three found it comfortable. There were no zombies and the walls were completely devoid of depressing little scribbles. And better yet, there was no need for safe room doors, and the lack thereof was relieving. Food was still in short supply, but Virgil was happy to share, even if it was rationed greatly. And it was _cooked_. None of the survivors could even come up with the proper words to express their gratitude.

Without the need to reassure people that they'd be okay, Ellis spent a lot of his time at Nick's side, and his stories returned completely. The con-man was quickly tiring of the boy's clingy behavior, but he didn't complain aloud, especially considering said closeness was something they'd been deprived of for a while. Even Nick knew the kid deserved some relief.

But with Rochelle talking to Virgil and the two alone in the small room in the lower region of the boat, Nick couldn't help but bring it up.

"You're awfully clingy lately, Overalls." The older man spoke calmly from his spot, leaning against one of the walls. Ellis was poised next to him for no real reason, gaze fixed elsewhere, at least until Nick spoke. He quickly stepped aside.

"Sorry." There was no embarrassment or remorse in his voice as he crossed his arms. "I was just enjoyin' things while I could. Before, y'know, we have to go back out there and shoot more zombies."

Nick shrugged. "I thought you _liked_ shooting zombies."

"I do." Ellis nodded honestly, and he grinned briefly before biting his lip. "But that don't mean I don't need a break every now an' then." He smiled faintly and let his arms unlace, falling to his sides. "Besides, you know you like havin' me around."

Nick turned his head and found himself face-to-face with one of Ellis' lopsided grins. It was that type of look that the boy gave when he was having the time of his life or just _knew_ he was right about something. Like when he brought up the idea of fueling up Jimmy Gibbs Jr.'s stock car. The young mechanic had been positively beaming at the idea of driving his wannabe man-wife's car straight out to safety.

The con-man merely rolled his eyes and looked away, grinning a bit himself. "Don't count your chickens, Overalls."

Ellis gave a short laugh. "I ain't countin' nothin'."

Nick rose an eyebrow, gaze fixed at the hunched-over wall on the other side of the boat. "What makes you say that?" The words were spoken lazily, and the older man's mouth looked as if a lit cigarette desperately needed to be dangling from it.

"Well," Ellis started, pushing off the wall, feet padding softly against the thin carpeting of the floor, "You ain't said a lotta mean things to me lately, that's fer sure."

Nick rolled his eyes again. "I also haven't said anything mean to Rochelle, either. You're no more special than she is."

Ellis shook his head. "I know that. But yer never even half as mean to her as you are to me—"

"—I _hit_ her, Ellis." The words stung on Nick's lips, and he felt bad saying them. "There are times I've really wanted to bash your face in, but I haven't."

"Now," the mechanic laughed, "yer just provin' my point that you like havin' me around."

"Your sense of logic is absolutely ludicrous." Nick groaned.

And after that, it was silent. Ellis toed at the floor, arms crossed, and Nick watched him idly, still leaning back against the wall and wishing he had a cigarette. In the stillness, the boat could be felt bobbing ever-so-slightly on the river, metal groaning slightly as it did so.

And then Ellis, as usual, had to go and ruin it.

"You let me hug you." Nick faced the kid fully and frowned. The mechanic's arms were still crossed, but he'd stopped moving and was staring intently at what the con-man was sure was just _one strand_ of carpet on the ground from the mere fixation on the boy's face. He was on the verge of a snarky response when Ellis turned his head upward and loosened one hand from his arms' embrace on his chest, holding up two fingers. "Twice."

Nick scowled. This was starting to get annoying. "What're you getting at?"

"I'm just sayin'," Ellis shrugged, "yer not as mean a guy as you make yerself out to be."

"Now isn't the best time for this." It was a standard response trained on Nick's lips from days spent with the mechanic, though his impatience had turned what was normally a question into a statement, harsh and uncomfortable, because the last thing he wanted right now was to get all emotional and start having _feelings_ about things.

"Don't seem that way to me." Ellis said, and Nick may have been caught a little off guard from the lack of his usual, 'okay.' "Ain't no zombies around."

"Why in the hell," the older man started, shaking his head in frustration, and by now, he _really_ needed a cigarette, "are you so determined about this anyway?"

Ellis shrugged. "'Cause I like this." His ears tinged red, and he continued, "I like hangin' around with you and, well, it'd be kinda nice if you liked it too."

Rochelle chose that precise moment (much to Nick's relief) to show up.

"The boat's almost out of gas." She stated plainly, and both men looked up to meet her eyes.

"Okay, so where's he going to get it from?" Nick questioned, and judging by the way Rochelle looked down at the floor and focused on the _same damned strand_ of carpet Ellis had been looking at a minute ago, he knew the answer wasn't going to be pleasant.

"He's not leaving the boat." She finally answered and had there been a cigarette in Nick's mouth, it would have fallen out at this point. "He's gonna drop us off at one of his usual stops and wants us to get it for him. It's just across the street, he says, so we should be able to get there just fine."

….

It was just across the street. But it was also empty, so that plan immediately went downhill, and the group had settled on finding another gas station—previous survivors (or maybe they were infected at this point?) had scribbled on the walls about another gas station a little while out, beyond the sugar mill, so that was their destination.

It started raining when they passed a playground, and Rochelle was the one to start complaining. But hey, at least the light spray was washing some of the zombie gore from their bodies, right?

But it was kind of chilly in the autumn weather. Even in the south, it wasn't comfortable to be soaking wet in the middle of October. Lucky for them, the humidity kept things tolerable and they weren't freezing their asses off.

"Let's just get there and get back." Nick had decided, and the other two agreed, pressing on.

The rain had apparently disagreed. By the time they'd reached the gas station and retrieved the gas, it had gone from a soft drizzle to a full-out downpour. Ellis had warned them earlier ("We are in for a _nasty_ damn storm!"), but neither Nick nor Rochelle had really taken it to heart. Their minds had been on the task at hand, rather than everything else around them—especially the witches. Ellis had taken it upon himself to count just how many they ran past, and when they got to the gas station, he'd gotten to eight. The same eight they'd probably have to avoid on their way back.

Great.

"We got the gas." Nick stated as he gathered a conveniently-placed health kit and some more ammo. "Let's get the hell back to the goddamned boat."

"I like that idea." Rochelle agreed, and they pushed the door open, stepping out cautiously. Ellis followed behind, axe in hand.

The rain poured around them. Now, not only was it 'pissing down' as Nick complained, but the wind was blowing violently, tossing leaves and small tree limbs around like limp noodles. Lightning flashed, and in the split second that it did so, infected could be seen, like an omen, speeding toward them in the distance. Even from half a mile away, their arms were stretched toward the survivors.

Nick's suit jacket billowed in the storm and arched around his features, and it created a sense of surrealism when combined with the machine gun in his hands that lit up his eyes with every explosion from the barrel. Zombies collapsed around him.

Ellis was astounded his hat hadn't been torn from his head in the storm (especially since his hands were clasped around his weapon, rather than his hat), but he didn't bother dwelling on it. Too many zombies were surrounding him. Too many were clawing at his skin and trying to tear his face off. Though, if they took his cap, the irony would piss him off.

Rochelle called out for the other two survivors, but her voice was barely audible in the wind and rain. She couldn't see the others. The rain was in her eyes and nose and ears and seeping through her shirt and despite being in the south, she realized she was freezing fucking _cold_.

They were halfway through the sugar mill when the rain died down, just in time for Rochelle to hear Nick scream.

"Overalls, what the hell did you—FUCK!"

She looked over just in time to see Nick toss his empty machine gun aside and start sprinting off in some direction, both handguns firing relentlessly.

"Shit, shit, ELLIS!" The explosions from the handgun shots fired, briefly lighting the scene up like some kind of morbid strobe light, and with each split second occurrence, Rochelle could make out more of the scene. Once she caught on, she was barreling toward the pair as well.

Ellis had startled a witch. There was no telling if it was intentional or accidental at this point, but now also wasn't the right time to be thinking about it. Ellis was in danger. Rochelle could see the blood flying and that was _never_ a good sign.

She arrived just in time to see the witch stumble sideways and shoot them a wistful glance, then collapse onto the muddy, rain-soaked concrete. Her gaze followed the witch downward, and next to her corpse, Ellis was sprawled out, eyes wide with shock.

"You fucking idiot." Nick growled, and Rochelle knelt to inspect Ellis' wounds while the con-man covered them.

"I'm sorry—" Ellis whimpered—and not the playful, mock-sad kind of whimper. The one where you just know you fucked up and everyone's life was at stake because of it. Oh, and pain. He was in a lot of pain right now. "I was swingin' at a zombie an' I didn't even see her an'—"

"Hush up." Rochelle said, opening her health pack.

"Something's gonna hear us if _both_ of you don't shut up." Nick ground out through gritted teeth.

Ellis' wounds were serious, to say the least. His left arm was a torn, mangled mess of claw marks and missing (or just dangling) skin and there were gashes all over his chest and stomach. His shirt looked like it'd been through a meat grinder. Rochelle tore it the rest of the way off.

"It's dirty." She covered immediately upon noticing the look of shock on both Ellis' and Nick's faces. "He's covered in gashes—I don't want to risk his wounds getting infected.

Nick shrugged and picked off a stray infected with his pistol. Among the sounds of gauze stretching and wounds being cleaned, its body could be heard collapsing somewhere in the distance.

Rochelle patched Ellis up the best she could, but his condition wasn't good by any means. It was going to slow them down tremendously. All three of them knew this, and they exchanged uneasy glances, each of them wondering if Ellis should just remain here like Coach had done before. Better one than three, after all. Even the mechanic was starting to agree.

Nick was the first to move after nearly a full minute of silence. He yanked his jacket from his own arms, then slung it over Ellis' body and then knelt before the boy, back facing the southerner.

"Grab on."

Ellis looked shocked. "Yer gonna carry me?"

"What other choice do we have?" It was almost as if he'd completely tossed the idea of leaving the kid out the window. Pretty damned uncharacteristic, but at the same time flattering, and Ellis seized the moment while he could, scooting closer to the older man and taking hold of him so he could be hoisted up.

"Thanks."

…

"Burger Tank sign's on!" Rochelle called from the top of the roof, and Nick nodded. He and Ellis had come up with an odd way of still being able to fight, and it was strangely successful. Nick supported the boy in a piggyback style while Ellis fired two pistols, hands slung over the con-man's shoulders. The mechanic had surprisingly good aim despite his condition. Nick was surprised that left arm could even move, let alone hold a gun. But everything about Ellis surprised the con-man.

Hell poured in and Rochelle threw a pipe bomb into the ensuing chaos. They'd planned everything out before turning on the signal. Rochelle had gathered at least five pipe bombs, a couple molotovs, and some gas cans and stuck them atop the roof. Since Nick couldn't climb ladders while holding onto Ellis, the two would stay below, and Rochelle would use her arsenal of weapons to cover the two men. They'd watch her back from below.

It went smoothly, much to everyone's relief. Rochelle eyed the rear entrance of the Burger Tank station every now and then, watching out for Virgil, and when after two tanks and countless zombies he _still_ hadn't returned, she found herself very frustrated. Her pile of weapons was empty, too. That made things a little more unnerving.

"Let's get closer to the dock!" She suggested, and Nick obeyed, starting into the building to cut through. He could hear Rochelle's footsteps from the roof and he emerged just in time to hear her land on a nearby truck, then on the ground.

The third tank roared in time with Virgil's boat. He was finally here. Well, not quite—he was still a good thirty feet from the dock, but he was close, and goddammit, that was relief in itself.

Thirty feet became twenty, and the survivors hovered close to the water, ready to leap on the boat when it got close enough.

The tank was close by the time twenty had dwindled into ten, and it was swinging and roaring and throwing rubble as it went. Rochelle narrowly dodged a swing, then blasted away a piece of flying concrete with her grenade launcher before it could hit Ellis and Nick, and by then, the boat had arrived.

Nick could see it glistening like light from the heavens, and he took the steps two at a time before leaping and landing, crumpling to his knees from the weight of both himself and Ellis. He lowered the boy to the ground just in time to turn and see Rochelle make it onto the boat, and then Virgil was driving them back out into the middle of the river.

Nick wasn't sure if Lady Luck was smiling or pissing on them at this point.


	4. Chapter 4

((And the last chapter! Sorry for making you all wait!

Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead 2, the characters, or what little story there is. I just do this 'cause my muses say so. Don't sue me.))

Life really had a way of throwing shit your way sometimes. Things would be going well one moment, and then in a flash, something goes wrong and it all crumbles before you. One bad thing after the other and the next thing you know, you're wondering if it's even worth it anymore.

Ellis had passed out mere seconds upon reaching the boat. He'd tried to get to his feet, then stumbled forward and just collapsed, completely spent. He must've really been trying to make himself useful since they'd taken him along rather than abandoning him. Maybe he was just desperate not to end up like Coach. And if he went down, he'd go down fighting tooth and nail.

The mechanic woke up to Rochelle and Nick discussing something in front of him. They were crouched around a pot of noodles, and when they heard the kid stirring, they both turned on their spot to face him. Rochelle looked so relieved that Ellis could see the tears in her eyes, and Nick let out a thankful sigh. There was a small smile on his features, but nothing that surprised the mechanic too terribly much.

"How're you holding up?" Nick questioned while Rochelle hugged Ellis gingerly, careful not to hit one of the many wounds the witch had inflicted.

Ellis waved a hand and made to sit up, letting out little grunts and whimpers as he did so. "I been better." He answered honestly, then motioned to the pot of noodles before them. "Got enough for me in there?"

Rochelle nodded and scooped him a bowl of it, then passed it his way. "Eat up, you're gonna need the energy."

Ellis' expression darkened, but he didn't say anything. He merely started to eat his meal and didn't say a word.

Nick noticed the change in mood. Or the lack thereof, rather. The kid seemed as brooding and contemplative as The Thinker and Nick wasn't sure he liked that in someone like Ellis. At least he was moving enough to put food in his mouth. And then there was the whole pain factor. He probably wasn't feeling too hot.

That in mind, the con-man reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-empty bottle of pain pills, passing it Ellis' way.

"You look like shit, kid."

"Thanks." Ellis swallowed two of them, then continued on his noodles.

…..

The next several days passed by without incident. Virgil came down to visit for a few meals, but for the most part, remained in his own cabin. Rochelle and Nick sat close to Ellis, in case something was to go wrong. They took turns going on deck for breaks. One would go up while the other sat with the kid and the other would do so when they returned. Ellis had argued that he'd be fine, but both of the other survivors seemed pretty adamant that they weren't letting anything happen to him.

After losing Coach, it was the least they could do. They were all a little bit leary.

Rochelle had just headed off for her break, leaving Nick and Ellis behind. They both sat in the cabin, Ellis on the lone mattress and Nick leaning with his back against it in front of him. It was uncomfortably quiet, but it had been ever since the kid had awakened. His skin was pale and his eyes were sunken and tired-looking, and he seemed weaker in general.

Nick knew by now what had kept Ellis so quiet. And quite frankly, he was fed up with it. That in mind, he spoke on it.

"What stage do you figure you're going through right now?" The con-man said, seemingly uncaring and smarmy as usual. He didn't turn to face the younger man. "I think it's denial right now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Behind Nick, Ellis was clearly shocked. His jaw hung open and he sat up so abruptly that he let out a loud, pained grunt in the process.

Nick sighed, then started counting on his fingers. "Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance." He wasn't trying to toy with the mechanic—it was just his nature to put on his poker face when he felt it was necessary. The lump in his throat told him it was. "When you hit anger, let me know so I can go somewhere else."

"What're you goin' on about, Nick?" Ellis caught on to the older man's tone and couldn't help but suddenly feel _very_ afraid of what was being discussed.

"Are you really that dense?" Nick still didn't turn to face Ellis. Instead, he hunched further over in his sitting position and lifted his knees up, letting his arms rest lazily upon them. His forearms dangled over the ground, and he was suddenly very focused on the shadows they formed upon the carpet.

"Maybe I'd get it if you actually tried to make some goddamn sense." Ellis retorted quickly, glaring at the back of Nick's head. "This ain't some stupid poker game, so stop playin' around and tell it to me straight."

Nick's shoulders sank, though Ellis didn't notice. The con-man sighed, and he finally questioned after several seconds' hesitation, "You think you're dying, don't you?"

Ellis went silent and sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

"I…Nick, I—"

"Don't be a hypocrite, Ellis." Nick hissed, and he turned on the spot, leaning a hand back to support himself as he did so. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking." There was a glare on the older man's features that frightened Ellis—warned him that the man before him could see straight through him and anything other than the truth would not be tolerated. "You're not making it very subtle if you're trying to hide it. At least tell a goddamned Keith story or something."

"Nick…" Ellis wondered how long the con-man had been holding back this conversation—how desperately he needed to know what other people were thinking. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or flattered, and again, words escaped him.

"Well?"

"How long did you…?"

"Since you started sulking instead of rambling." Nick almost repeated about just how obvious Ellis was making it, but decided against it. The mechanic looked awfully shocked sitting before him, to be honest.

And finally, Ellis gave in and let out a long sigh, reaching a tender and weak arm up to rub the back of his head. His hat rested on the ground next to the mattress.

"It's not that I'm dyin'…" The mechanic didn't look so sure of that phrase, but Nick let him continue, mostly out of curiosity. "It's all the shit we done got into. I mean…we came so far and now it's like we ain't gonna make it much longer…"

Nick narrowed his eyes. "It's not over, Ellis."

Ellis shook his head, and for a brief moment, the con-man thought he saw the kid shiver. "You can keep sayin' that, but we're goin' down one by one. Coach—"

"Coach died so we could keep moving, remember?"

"But I'm hurt now, and I ain't gonna be any kinda help to y'all in this state—"

Nick's eyes looked livid for a split second. "You're not going to die."

"Huh?"

"We're not leaving you to die." The older man's eyes were focused so intently on Ellis' that the kid was the first to break the eye contact. "You shot just fine when we went to get gas—"

"But you had to carry me, an'—"

"We're almost to New Orleans." Nick's voice was sharp and scolding, like a mother telling her child not to say a bad word. "You're too far to be getting all depressed."

Ellis looked lost. His eyes grazed the mattress, then lifted up to the ceiling, then back to Nick, then repeated the process as if he wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to be looking at. His thoughts were jumbled and his body ached and he was physically drained, and he chose that precise moment to break right before Nick. He collapsed forward and off the mattress, arms flopping loosely around the older man's neck and pain wracking his entire body as he did so, but he didn't care. He let out a noise akin to a whimper and Nick reeled backward a bit, but eventually, and very awkwardly, draped an arm around the boy's back.

"You're not doing your injuries any good like this, Sport—"

"Shut up." Ellis' voice was low and intolerant, but he didn't let go of the con-man. "Just shut up for five damn minutes." The younger man's hands bundled into fists around the back of Nick's suit, and neither Ellis nor the con-man really cared. Letting out an exasperated sigh, the older man raised his other arm and pulled the mechanic closer to him. He swallowed and buried his face in Ellis' hair.

"Thanks, Nick." The boy finally spoke after nearly a minute of silence. "Thank you." He repeated. "Thank you."

The snarky remark was on the tip of Nick's tongue, but he held it back and reminded himself, like he had done to Ellis many times before, that now was not the best time, and instead said, "What for?"

Ellis pulled away only slightly. "I…I don't wanna die."

Nick knew he was lying—that survival was no guarantee—, but he still said it. "You're not. It's going to be okay." Besides, there was something in him that was hell-bent on making sure the three of them made it alive.

"Coach." The younger man thought aloud, as if their former group member was right there, sitting before them. As if he was going to lift his head and acknowledge the speaking of his name. "I miss him."

Nick didn't say anything. Instead, he lifted one hand and let it rest on the side of Ellis' face. He was warm, and the older man's fingers tickled against the stubble on the kid's chin. The digits twitched in response to the sensation, but did not pull back.

"Nick?" Ellis' eyes were watery and red. He hadn't done much crying, but this was the worst Nick had ever seen him, and he couldn't quite explain the sudden sadness he felt in response to the sight. The con-man's throat was tight and uncomfortable, and for a split second, his breathing was shaky.

"Yeah?" Nick finally responded, voice low and weak.

The boy looked tired and frail before Nick, despite the strong arms and torso that were visible beneath the younger man's shirt. His gaze was fixed on Nick's, and his own hands slid down to undo the knot in his coveralls. He didn't move from the older man's lap.

"Ellis." Nick's throat went dry, and his hand dropped down to stop the process of untying the kid's coveralls.

Ellis still didn't speak. Instead, he swatted Nick's hand away and finished untying the knot, then slipped his fingers beneath his own shirt and, with some pained grunts, tugged it off over his head.

Nick swallowed. "Overalls—_Ellis_, stop…" He was never the type to turn down a good lay, but Ellis was a mess before him. He looked as if he would just collapse in on himself and his movements were lazy and exasperated, and worst of all, he was _quiet._

The mechanic seemed, as usual (which the con-man should have taken as a _good _thing), oblivious to Nick's remarks and attempts to stop him. The kid's hands found the older man's shirt (the jacket had been tossed into a corner after Ellis had worn it—Nick had no need for it on a boat) and his fingers worked the buttons open.

When Ellis reached the third button, Nick stopped him. His hand caught one of the mechanic's wrists, and he looked sternly into the kid's eyes.

"_You need to stop._" Truth be told, there was nothing that Nick wanted more than to pull the kid down into his arms and take him right then and there, but Ellis wasn't himself, and something about this situation just wasn't right. Even Nick, being the person he was, sensed something wrong.

"No." Ellis yanked his hand from Nick's grip. For a second, he looked angry, and then he was calm, and then he was sad again, and through gritted teeth, he pleaded, "I need this. If I ain't gonna make it, I need you to know right now—"

"Shut up." Nick's hands found Ellis' face and he kissed the boy—hard. "You're not going to die." He kissed him again. "Stop overreacting." He repeated the kiss, and the next thing he knew, he'd turned Ellis over and was on the kid's mouth again.

"I'm sorry…" Ellis managed in between kisses. "I'm just…I'm scared." His bandaged arms wrapped around the older man's neck.

"Don't." Nick pulled back, using his hands to support himself, and stared down at the kid. "Stop saying that." And then, he was stripping. His belt came off, and his pants were unbuttoned and the shirt tugged off the rest of the way. Deft fingers slid down and fixed around Ellis' coveralls, sliding them down. The mechanic kicked them off and removed his boxers while Nick stood and finished stripping.

Ellis was a mess. He was covered in bandages and the areas that weren't bandaged were scraped or scabbed in some way. The witch had really done a number on him.

Nick returned to Ellis and straddled the kid's hips, rocking his own slowly—tentatively. The mechanic groaned and returned the gesture, then tugged the older man down until their foreheads made contact. Nick could feel the kid's breathing on his lips.

A soft thudding sound caught Nick's attention, but Ellis seemed oblivious to it. He kissed the kid's forehead, then glanced upward, where he caught sight of Rochelle. She didn't look all that surprised. And when looks of understanding were exchanged between the two, she turned halfway down the stairs and went right back up.

She saw this coming.

Nick glanced downward at the mechanic, who was still staring up at him. His lips were parted in a relaxed way, and the older man took advantage, drawing himself downward and kissing the kid once more, tongue slipping into the younger man's mouth. Ellis responded with a hitch of breath, then parted his lips further, allowing more room. His hands slid up and cupped either side of Nick's face, and he arched up into the older man.

"Ellis…" Nick sighed into the kiss and ground his hips downward to meet the younger man's. They both groaned.

"You know what to do, Nick." The con-man wasn't looking at Ellis' face when the mechanic spoke, but the longing was obvious in his voice.

"Right." Nick bit his bottom lip and let his hand slide upward until his fingers reached the younger man's lips. Ellis took three of the digits into his mouth and sucked lightly on them. The kid's mouth was hot and slick against Nick's fingers, and the older man couldn't help but let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

After a few seconds, the fingers slid from Ellis' mouth and drifted down the mechanic's bare, beaten body, leaving a trail of rapidly-cooling saliva in its wake. Nick dragged the cooling digits along the younger man's already-hard member, then down to his entrance and gently pushed two of them inside. Ellis whimpered against the intrusion, but pushed his hips down onto the fingers regardless.

"Relax, Ellis." Nick told him, his fingers scissoring and curving within the younger man. "Makes it easier if you _relax, goddammit._" He emphasized his point by shoving his fingers further in and hunting for the boy's prostate.

"I'm tryin'…" Ellis responded. "You try havin' fingers shoved up yer ass."

"You wanted this." Nick glanced up, looking for any sign of reluctance from the younger man, but the mechanic did nothing.

"Yeah." Ellis agreed finally. "I want this. Keep goin', Nick."

If Nick was in his right mind, he'd have stepped back and torn the hair from his scalp for being such a sentimental bastard, but truth be told, he felt _horrible_ for the kid, and hell if he wasn't just a little bit in love with the guy.

_Fuck._

"Ellis. We don't have to—"

"—Keep goin', Nick." Ellis repeated plainly, pushing down onto the con-man's fingers for good measure.

"Alright." Kisses were pressed to the younger man's stomach as Nick prepared him. Soon, two fingers became three and Ellis was writhing and whimpering longingly. The sight was intoxicating, and Nick couldn't resist any longer. He sat upright and used the substance from both their leaking members to slick himself up. Ellis' hips were hoisted up until the kid's legs were resting on Nick's shoulders, and he finally pushed himself inside.

They shared another grin, and Nick pushed in all the way to the hilt, tossing his head back. Ellis salivated at the sight of the older man's adam's apple.

"Get movin', Nick." He pressed on, rocking his hips the best he could given his position.

Nick obeyed and pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed himself inside once more. He hissed, then repeated the process, and a rhythm started.

Ellis was quiet aside from the little sighs and groans escaping his lips. His eyes were closed and he was just going along for the ride and it was driving Nick insane.

"Tell a Keith story or something…" The con-man found himself demanding in between paced thrusts. "Christ."

Ellis hesitated, mostly because his body was constricting and shivering with pleasure. "Doncha think...this ain't the time for somethin' like that?" He let out a moan afterward because Nick had hit his prostate.

"Well, say something." The older man pleaded blandly as he sped his pace a bit. "You're not yourself when you're not yammering."

"You want me to yammer?" Ellis started to laugh, but it was caught in his throat again when Nick hit that spot within him once more. The rest of it came out as another groan.

"Yeah." Nick answered. He could feel his stomach tightening. "You and Keith ever do something like this?"

Ellis shook his head. "Naw, Keith's straight as an arrow—at least, that's what he tells me." He moaned again. "But I reckon Dave ain't so much, 'cause he an' I done some stuff before."

"Stuff?" Nick thrust again, and Ellis arched upward as the pleasure wracked his body.

"Yeah—" The younger man started. "We was drunk half the time, but there was that one time after his Momma's funeral."

Nick came first, and he did so with a rough thrust inward, sending Ellis over the edge with him. The talking stopped and they both rode their climax out silently, panting like dogs in summer heat, and then Nick pulled out and collapsed next to Ellis.

Ellis sighed. "I didn't think think you liked my stories, Nick."

The con-man shrugged. "They're annoying as shit, but I was starting to have withdrawals." A hand stretched out to touch Ellis' face. "You're supposed to be some crazy ass zombie killing machine with a million Keith stories."

….

That night, Rochelle, Nick, and Ellis ate supper in better spirits. Ellis sat closer to Nick than usual and Rochelle didn't mind. The kid told stories about how Keith dove off a boat to catch a catfish in the river once and how Dave had to rescue him and Rochelle laughed. Nick ate peacefully and smiled lightly the entire time.

Yeah. They'd be okay. Ellis was in better spirits and that was all they needed. They were almost to the final stretch, and all they had to do was get to the chopper.

There would be tanks and chargers and smokers and they would try their damnedest to keep the survivors from making it, but the survivors would fight back with equal fervor, and for Coach's sake, they'd make it. They'd reach that chopper and thank him for his blessings when they made it.

Ellis was already telling stories about it.


End file.
